Always
by Josie Lange
Summary: In the wake of the battle at Adamant Fortress in the Western Approach, Grey Warden Loghain Mac Tir contemplates his place within the order while looking toward the future and the woman he loves.
1. The Edge of the Abyss

**A/N: _This story loosely follows the world I've built in "Rend Asunder" and "Retribution." It's not totally necessary to have read those before this. Off we go!_**

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**CHAPTER 1: THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS**

"Warden Commander, we've—"

"As I have told you several times, I'm _not_ the Warden Commander."

The young man shuffled on his feet, his eyes sliding away to look anywhere but at the icy blue ones that glared at him in exasperation. Loghain had had years to perfect the look; it hadn't failed him as a young poacher, a nobleman, or a Grey Warden, and it certainly didn't fail him now. "I do apologize, Warden Loghain. It's just that you're the senior Warden here since Warden Commander Clarel died, and I assumed—"

"Assuming makes an ass out of you and me." Loghain sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The nausea resulting from falling into and out of the Fade had mostly subsided, but the roaring headache showed no signs of letting up. His ribs felt like they had been kicked over and over again, each breath a fight between filling his lungs and not wanting to make the pain worse. He would likely have a stitch in his ribs for days, not to mention the colorful bruises he would have from head to toe. It was, however, more welcome than the maddening itch the false Calling had instilled in him. While his physical wounds would heal, the distress caused by the false Calling and escaping the Fade would linger far longer.

As if darkspawn nightmares weren't bad enough. Now they would be joined by demons traipsing about.

The young Warden was still there, waiting for Loghain to continue. "What do you want, Lucius?"

"The name is Warden Lancelinus Martin. Lance." He bowed slightly. "Adenin has died of his wounds, and Elena hasn't shown much progress. Also, the mages say that the battle here has thinned the Veil precariously in several places. Stronger demons could find a way through."

_Darkspawn or demons, or darkspawn _and_ demons, _Loghain thought. He looked around the courtyard of Adamant Fortress. Their numbers were few indeed, with many having perished at the hands of Livius Erimond's enslaved Wardens, the demons, or the dragon thrall. Thankfully, the Inquisition army was still milling about the fortress, their numbers smaller than when they came, but still outnumbering the Wardens significantly. "Take Adenin's body to the pyre and have one of the healers do what they can for Elena. As for the Veil, I will speak with Inquisitor Trevelyan and Commander Cullen. I will advise her of our findings and request her help in keeping watch." Loghain turned on his heel, moving toward where the Inquisition's army had made camp. He wondered if proffering this advice and asking for their assistance again would be too bold, especially after the rebuke the Inquisitor had given the Wardens a short while ago.

They were partners now, for better or worse.

Inquisitor Trevelyan was right, however. The Grey Wardens were vulnerable, more so than any of them had realized. Word of this vulnerability would spread quickly in the coming days; while the Grey Wardens never claimed to be infallible, they did enjoy a certain mystique about them. They would have much work to do in rebuilding their reputation and regaining the trust of those outside the order. That meant assuaging the Inquisition first, and then finding someone competent to lead the Orlesian Wardens while he journeyed to Weisshaupt to report on what had happened here. Carmen Trevelyan might trust Loghain himself, but that didn't mean the whole of the Inquisition did. The looks her bald elf companion and the Seeker had given the Wardens surely didn't convey trust. Still, the Inquisitor had seemed a reasonable sort in the aftermath of the day's events. She could have outright banished them.

The Inquisition's forces were in the main courtyard of the fortress, preparing their own camp for the evening. Several fires had been lit and a number of men and women were moving about, cooking meals and tending to the injured, while others erected tents to shelter against the searing winds that often brought blowing sands within the walls. They had also created a pyre outside the fortress for their dead, with solemn words and prayers said for every corpse added to it. Any demons that managed to pass through the Veil wouldn't find host bodies to inhabit, which increased everyone's odds of survival. The thought of seeing friends and colleagues die twice was horrifying.

Carmen and Cullen Rutherford, the commander of the Inquisition army, were standing next to each other, looking out over their forces and the remains of the courtyard. "I don't want to stay here any longer than a day," Loghain heard Cullen say. "We need to get Erimond back to Skyhold as soon as possible. Lingering here too long could allow the Venatori to rally their forces. The last thing we need is for them to assault both Adamant Fortress and Griffon Wing Keep in a rescue attempt."

"I agree," Carmen said, her arms crossed over her chest as she saw Loghain approach. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement. "Send a rider to Griffon Wing Keep and let Knight-Captain Rylen know that we've taken Adamant, but to remain vigilant. Griffon Wing is an important outpost; I don't want to lose it to avenging Venatori. As for returning to Skyhold, we should go back as one group. With luck, any random Venatori between here and Skyhold will be reluctant to attack an entire army to try and free Erimond."

Cullen looked at Loghain warily. "True, but they could try to influence the Grey Wardens again and turn them against us, attack us from within. Or, perhaps, use their magic to launch a direct attack." Loghain simply returned the stare, his expression stony. The years that had passed between the Blight and now hadn't made them any less skeptical of one another.

The Inquisitor nodded. "Going as a large group will offer us safely. You know the saying, 'protection in numbers.' We'll dispatch advance scout teams to flush out any Venatori in the area. That will give the Wardens a breather and our troops can get a little payback. You know, drive that dagger into Corypheus a little deeper and twist it."

"Perhaps Movran the Under and his clan will run into the Venatori on their way to the Imperium," Cullen said as he rubbed his chin. His fingers made a slight rustling sound as they brushed across the stubble there.

"One could only hope," Carmen said. "Have you heard from him lately?"

"Their last message said that they had been near Lake Celestine along the Imperial Highway. The clan stopped there to hunt and fish before continuing toward Val Royeaux."

"Oh my. I'm sure the sight of an Avvar clan will cause quite the scandal there." A grin pulled on Carmen's lips. "I still can't believe he actually threw a _goat_ against Skyhold," she said with a chortle. "Would have been more polite to knock. Good manners never go out of fashion."

A matching grin also appeared on Cullen's face. "Polite, yes, but it wouldn't have been nearly as... effective."

"It's a good thing we were able to get the blood off the walls; that wouldn't have made a good impression on our visitors," Carmen said. Loghain watched as she glanced at him again and held up a finger, silently asking him to wait a little longer before speaking to Cullen again. "Anyway, that's it for now, Commander. We'll talk later."

"As you say, Inquisitor," Cullen replied, nodding his head at her. "I will see to our men. Tonight, we rest." He gave Loghain one more look, then moved off toward the Inquisition army. After calling out a greeting to a soldier walking by, he lifted the lid to a nearby cooking pot, nodding in approval at what he saw inside.

"Inquisitor," Loghain began as he returned his attention to her, "the Grey Wardens are concerned about the thinness of the Veil in parts of the fortress. There is a risk of stronger demons finding a way through. We are also close to the Abyssal Rift, a place where darkspawn are known to inhabit. I know our men need rest, but it would be best to have teams patrolling the perimeter as well as searching for tears in the Veil so long as we are here."

Carmen's eyes narrowed. "The Grey Wardens are staying? After everything that happened here, I thought you'd be immediately off to Weisshaupt. Don't you think staying is unwise?"

He regarded her with a cool expression. "Like you, we have injured to care for, and forcing them to march through the desert to Weisshaupt, Montsimmard, or an oasis would do more harm than good. They are in my charge for the time being and I have decided that staying here for a day or two is best, which is why we need patrols."

"Well, we leave for Skyhold tomorrow," the Inquisitor said. "We need _our_ rest as well. I can't spare every able bodied man to patrol the perimeter outside, not when we must guard Erimond against any rescue attempt from the Venatori. I want as many men around him as possible."

"I would not ask you, your men, or the Grey Wardens to do something I would not do myself. Therefore, I will take the first patrol and scout for any Venatori outside the fortress."

He saw her glance at the ribs Loghain had been holding when they had reemerged from the Fade. No doubt she was wondering about his physical state and if was up to doing what he said he would do. Well, he wasn't about to let her have the satisfaction of knowing that he still ached terribly and had wondered more than once if he was too old for this. He held himself tall, even though it made the throbbing in his head and ribs worse. He would show no weakness to her.

The silence stretched out for several long moments as Inquisitor Trevelyan continued to study Loghain. He held her gaze, his expression steely. Once she was satisfied with her scrutiny, she placed her hands on her hips. "You could still be susceptible to their machinations. That's a risk we can't afford to take. Perhaps the Grey Wardens need to remain within the fortress."

She was testing him, Loghain had no doubt. As much as it vexed him, being amenable to her scrutiny would help lay the groundwork to rebuilding trust between them. That didn't mean he wouldn't hold his ground.

"I was able to resist their false Calling once," he said; she didn't need to know just how maddeningly difficult it had been to do so. "Now that I know what it is, I can do it again. There were other Wardens who did not blindly follow Erimond's will as well. As for demons, they do not issue a Call. They will, however, be interested in mages and the dead, and there are plenty of both here.

"And, if there are darkspawn in the area of the Rift, they could mount an attack with little warning. With the Grey Wardens out on patrol, we will know if the darkspawn are approaching and can raise the alarm."

The Inquisitor's hand went to her sword, fingers and palm moving over the round pommel. She nibbled on the inside of her cheek, a gesture of nervousness that Loghain did not miss. Word was that she was still quite new at this "Inquisitor" business; Loghain, a former teyrn who had spent years observing the nobility of Ferelden, didn't miss the little signs of apprehension that she exhibited. He wasn't known for his powers of persuasion—Maric was the one who had had a way with words—but it wouldn't hurt to try.

"Inquisitor," he began, "would it ease your mind if the mages—Inquisition _and_ Warden—perform a sweep of the area to determine where the weakest parts of the Veil are and if the Venatori are close by?" He gestured toward where Cullen was mingling with his men. "You have a templar with you; can he not observe?"

"Cullen isn't part of the Order any longer, but I suppose you have a point." Carmen sighed deeply, then nodded. "All right. We'll have some of the mages sweep the area with Cullen. The areas where the Veil is thinnest will be off limits until I can use the Anchor to seal them. A Grey Warden and an Inquisition soldier will patrol the desert outside the fortress for any Venatori or darkspawn. We will consolidate our forces into one camp here in order to keep an eye on each other. We are allies, after all."

_Or, more likely, the Inquisition can keep an eye on _us_, _Loghain thought. What the Inquisitor had left unsaid bristled at him, but there was no use in confronting her about it. The Grey Wardens had warranted the Inquisitor's skepticism, allies or not. "Agreed," Loghain said with a nod.

The sound of footfalls nearby drew Loghain's attention. He turned his head and saw the Nevarran Seeker—Cassandra Something Something Pentaghast—approach them. She still looked shaken from their experience in the Fade; ashen skin, agitated, and limping. Truth be told, the Fade wasn't an experience he would remember fondly either. How mages could stand experiencing it on a regular basis was something he would never understand.

"Warden Loghain, a moment of your time."

He sighed. "Yes, Seeker?"

Cassandra's eyes moved to the Inquisitor, then back to him. "You are close to the Hero of Ferelden. Do you know where she is now? The Inquisition could use her."

His eyes narrowed. "Use her? Really?" he asked, his voice measured as he answered. When it came to the Hero of Ferelden, his first instinct would always be to protect her. The Seeker, to her credit, held her ground against his icy expression, but her eyes did widen slightly as if taken aback. The Inquisitor looked slightly uncomfortable as Loghain crossed his arms over his chest. "Please," he continued, the word slow and acerbic, "do tell me; what do you mean by 'use her?'"

"Warden, I meant no disrespect. Perhaps I should say it another way," Cassandra said, her voice somewhere between stern and irritable. "What I meant to say is that her influence and leadership would help Inquisitor Trevelyan and the Inquisition immensely. We are still trying to build the Inquisition's influence, especially in Orlais, and having the Hero of Ferelden at our side would immediately do that."

_Always Orlais,_ Loghain thought. It would be a thorn in his side for as long as he lived. As for the Hero… "When last I saw her, she was not in Ferelden at all; she was seeing to Grey Warden affairs near Kirkwall. It has been some time since then. I do not know where her duties have taken her since."

"And you have no way of contacting her to ask for her assistance?"

"No."

An exasperated sigh came from Cassandra as she shook her head and planted her fists on her hips. Carmen reached out and touched her companion's arm. "It's all right, Cassandra," she said, trying to soothe the prickly Seeker. "We'll do the best we can. Once we speak to the Hero, I'm sure we can convince her to help us."

"I should hope so," Cassandra spat. "One would think that since we have just allied with the Grey Wardens, she would honor that pledge."

Loghain bristled. "That would be her decision, not mine. And certainly not yours."

A stony silence fell between them. After glaring at Loghain for a moment, Cassandra scoffed angrily and stomped off toward the Inquisition camp.

"I apologize, Warden," Carmen said as they briefly watched Cassandra's back, "the Seeker prefers action to words. She sees something that needs to be done, and she'll pursue it at all costs, even if it puts off the people around her."

"There is nothing I would not do for something I believed in," Loghain said. "I can respect that. However, I will say again: I do not know where the Hero is."

"Fair enough. If you do see her, give her the Inquisition's regards and condolences for Aiden Hawke's death. And tell her I look forward to meeting her." The Inquisitor motioned toward a soldier nearby, who came to her side with a slight bow. His eyes moved from Carmen, to Loghain, and back again. "Inquisitor?"

"Go with Warden Loghain while he scouts the perimeter of the fortress grounds. If any signs of Venatori or darkspawn are spotted, return at once."

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They walked in widening arcs beyond the gates of the fortress, hands on weapons in case a quick draw was needed. Scarves covered their faces against the blowing sands and relentless sun. As they had patrolled, Loghain's thoughts turned toward Weisshaupt and what he would do after he made his report. The First Warden would likely give him new orders, perhaps make him Warden Commander of the Orlesian forces... as if the First Warden had any idea of what was happening beyond the borders of Anderfels. If he tried to make him Warden Commander, Loghain would decline. _Perhaps 'refuse' would be the more accurate term. The man is little more than a lickspittle with a fancy title, _he thought. It was well past time for him to return to Ferelden permanently; his visit to Crestwood had stirred in him a great longing for home.

Perhaps the time away had also softened the animosity between himself and King Alistair. They had little more than tolerated each other for a number of years. Of course, the children his beloved Anora had borne for the King made him appreciate the fact that a father needed to be close to his daughter, even if she was far past her years as a child. He wanted to know his grandchildren, to tell them of the family history they would not learn from their tutors.

There was also the child he had conceived with Morrigan through her ritual at the end of the Blight. He often wondered how the boy was doing. Morrigan had, somewhat reluctantly, sent him bits of information about their son over the years. Kieran. Did he know the reason behind his making? Did he truly carry Urthemial's soul? Perhaps the answers to those questions were in Ferelden as well.

Upon his return, Loghain would return to either Virgil's Keep or Soldier's Peak; there were always recruits to train in swordcraft, archery, or tactics, and patrols to conduct in the Deep Roads or the Fereldan wilderness. He longed to live out his final days before the _real_ Calling in his homeland, in the presence of his Warden Commander. _Always. _She deserved a rest, too, not to be traipsing around the continent. She wasthe Hero of _Ferelden_, after all.

After a few moments, Loghain set his thoughts aside and focused on the sands around them. There were a few signs of the Venatori's escape: a broken staff. The hilt from a dagger emblazoned with a dragon made from inlaid pearl. Scraps of bloodied robes. One Tevinter mage, dead and already drawing flies where the sands did not cover it.

And there was something else.

The sun bleached bones of a long dead creature that Loghain immediately recognized rested among the ripples of sand. The small bones of carrion birds surrounded it, open mouthed and twisted as if they had died screaming.

The Inquisition soldier drew his sword and reached toward the bones with the tip. "What in the—"

"Stop," Loghain said, his voice sharp and commanding. "Don't touch it." To the soldier's credit, he stopped immediately, his brows furrowed under the sand scarf.

"Ser?"

Loghain pulled the scarf down to expose his face; while it did well protecting him, it also felt like being wrapped in a shroud. It was disconcerting. "That's a genlock. A darkspawn. Leave it be."

"A darkspawn?" The soldier hastily drew his sword away. "I've seen them only once, from a distance. I still have nightmares about them."

It was Loghain's turn to frown. "You've seen them and lived to tell about it? Where?"

"Ostagar, ser. I served with your troops."

The memories, never completely buried, came back to Loghain again. The horror that he had kept tightly held within as he had first witnessed the darkspawn horde. The exasperation at Cailan's desire to be a heroic legend. The sorrow at the losses combined with the fear of invasion. The turmoil that followed. He sighed, pushing the memories away. It was an age ago, it seemed. Much had happened since then and it did no good to relive the past.

"You served with my men at Ostagar? You're from Gwaren?"

"Aye. Cenric Salter, ser. My family worked on nets and sails for the fishing boats. It was good work, but I wanted... more. So, I joined the city patrol. When the call went out for volunteers to battle the darkspawn, I jumped at the chance. See the Korcari Wilds? I was all for it."

"How did I not know you?"

"You were in Denerim when I joined the army. After Ostagar, I was with the group that Ser Cauthrien ordered back to Gwaren to protect the city." Cenric paused and shrugged. "You never returned to Gwaren."

"Circumstances prevented my return." Loghain replaced the scarf on his face and moved on as they continued the sweep. They paused as they approached a small complex beyond the borders of the fortress. There were many such structures in the area, likely remnants of settlements or guard towers long abandoned as the importance of Adamant waned and the darkspawn emerged from the nearby abyss. This appeared to be a watchtower of some sort with a squat building attached to it, large enough to hold a small contingent of workers or soldiers. There were similar looking towers leading toward the horizon, likely marking an old road between Adamant and the greener lands to the west. They were old and dilapidated; perfect hiding spots for ambushers. He saw no tracks in the sand, but that meant little when the landscape was constantly evolving like a living thing.

Loghain took several steps toward the building at the base of the tower, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. No challenges were called, no projectiles hurled their way. He wasn't going to complain about that, but he was uneasy nonetheless. If the Venatori hadn't settled here, it could be seen as a good sign; perhaps they were interested in getting as far away as possible before attempting to regroup. He took a few steps toward the front wall of the building.

And stopped.

Something stirred in his blood as his eyes swept the area, like the brush of a stray hair on his skin. Not the Calling, but something else. He held up a hand, motioning to Cenric that he should stop.

"Ser? Is it the Venatori?"

"Be quiet!," Loghain hissed under his breath. The faster he could concentrate on, and with, his senses, the quicker he could plot a course of action. He looked toward the entrance of the building, trying to make sense of what it was that made his blood crawl. Whatever stirred his blood seemed vague; whether it was something long gone or simply his overtaxed senses dull to the sensation, he didn't know. It didn't feel malevolent, but it was worth investigating just the same. After a moment, he turned and looked past Cenric to where the genlock bones rested in the sand behind them.

Loghain's gaze returned to Cenric. "Not the Venatori."

"Darkspawn?"

He gave a curt nod. "Return to Adamant," Loghain said. "Tell the Inquisitor that the only signs of the Venatori are those of them fleeing. However, there is the residual feel of darkspawn here. They spread their taint in areas they have occupied; it is possible that something remains of their passage. I sense no immediate danger, but must investigate and determine if this is a remnant of the past or the sign of a new problem from the Abyssal Rift."

"Ser, are you certain? Shall I return with assistance?"

"Not yet," Loghain said. The last thing he needed was for some fool soldier to stumble into something that was potentially blighted. He looked at the sky and used a hand to estimate how long they had until the sun touched the horizon. "There are about four hours until night falls," he told Cenric. "If I am not back by the time the sun is one hand width above the horizon, have the Inquisitor round up a squad of Grey Wardens and begin a search for darkspawn around the fortress."

"And if it really _is_ darkspawn?"

"The other Grey Wardens will know if the darkspawn are massing. Adamant will not taken by surprise."

"Any other orders, ser?"

"No. Go."

Cenric nodded, then reached toward his belt and removed a dagger, which he then handed to Loghain. The hilt felt unnaturally warm and the blade seemed to shimmer with shades of orange and yellow. "Take this, ser. I doubt the darkspawn will be able to fight as well if they were to somehow ignite."

"Indeed," Loghain agreed as he slipped the blade into a scabbard on his belt, one within easy reach in case he needed it. He drew his sword and readied his shield. "I'll give it back to you upon my return."

"I look forward to it. Maker watch over you," Cenric said as he saluted, then turned toward Adamant Fortress. Loghain watched him retreat for a moment, then turned toward the building ahead of him.

He wasn't entirely sure what he would find.

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_**A/N: A big shout out and thanks to my beta extraordinaire, Suilven! She's been encouraging me to write during a very, very, VERY long dry spell where the muse just gave me the finger and said "peace out." Anyway, I'm finding the fun in writing again, so I'm hoping to circle back to "Retribution" in the very near future.**_

_**Thank you to everyone for reading!**_


	2. The Path West

**CHAPTER 2: THE PATH WEST**

How long had it been since she had slept in a proper bed? Amaranthine? Kirkwall? The ship that had carried her to Orlais? She wasn't sure; however, to Lhiannon Mac Tir, it had seemed like forever. She had had the foresight to purchase a new bedroll in Val Firmin before heading west, but no bedroll could compare to a feather bed. Or even a straw bed; she'd even take a straw bed with fleas before taking a bedroll filled with sand _and _fleas. She had some insect netting with her bedroll, even burned sage before bedding down for the night, but the sand and fleas always seemed to find a way in.

The old stone building had been a welcome respite from the heat outside. A Fereldan girl, she had welcomed the warmth that the northern lands had provided, but the trek through the arid wilderness had been almost too much. The building appeared to be some sort of outpost based on her exploration. The roof was made of slate, but some of the pieces had fallen to the ground, leaving points of light scattered throughout the interior rooms. Stairs wound up through the tower attached to it, though they were narrow and rickety beyond the second floor. The walls of the room she had chosen for her camp had old, rusted sconces on them, some filled with wood so dry that they would likely flare up and turn to ash the moment she transferred her magical flame to it. Rather than take her chances, she pulled a small lantern from her pack and opened it to reveal a candle within. She whispered a spell and a small spark of flame appeared on the wick. The shadows were pushed back, revealing mostly broken furniture and drifts of sand. A barracks, she guessed.

Once she was certain the candle would remain lit, she unwound the sheer veil that had all but covered her face during the journey and let it drape around her neck and shoulders. She turned her head and spat sand out of her mouth nonetheless. _It just gets everywhere_, she thought. No doubt she would find sand in her smallclothes when she next had the opportunity to bathe. Looking about the ruined barracks, she found a spot along the back wall near a window that wasn't facing the prevailing winds and began to set up her small camp.

A small noise outside the window made her jump. It was likely one of the many lizards or snakes that she had seen on her journey, but it was still unnerving. She was restless, her nerves frayed and exhausted from experiencing what she had surmised was a Calling that had pressed on her mind day and night until abruptly stopping only a few hours before. It had been a relentless itch, a song that repeated itself over and over until she thought that she would go mad, and a compulsion to follow it. It had been foreboding, a sense of being led to her doom. The resulting silence from its end was almost as unnerving as the Calling itself, yet an undeniable relief. She had had a bottle of Antivan brandy with her, drinking a couple of mouthfuls before bed to help her sleep during the Calling's onslaught, but the brandy was now days gone and, with it, likely any semblance of sleep. Still, she would cast a glyph of repulsion at the entrance to the building before she closed her eyes and at least tried to rest.

Her thoughts wandered, flowing from past to present as she attempted to relax. What she had witnessed from a distance hours earlier had chilled her to the bone. An enormous demon had been attacking the old Grey Warden fortress she saw in the distance; its roars had carried across the sand amongst the dust and wind. A dragon had flown overhead, observing what had been happening below and breathing fire as it strafed the compound. Alain Hawke had been right, as much as Lhiannon had hoped he was wrong. The ancient being that he and Anders had told them about was very much alive and making his presence known.

"He's like the Architect, but far worse; like if the Archdemon and the Architect got together and had a baby," Anders had said.

"Corypheus was _dead_," Hawke had interjected. "We both saw his body."

Anders… she missed her old friend, and Hawke… she had barely begun getting to know her cousin. He and Hawke had taken a great risk to contact her and Loghain. They were still being hunted by the Chantry and the forces of Starkhaven for the explosion of the chantry in Kirkwall. Kirkwall was where she and Loghain had been helping what few Marcher Grey Wardens there were investigate the red lyrium found in what was called Bartrand's Folly, as well as the disappearance of the Grey Warden Larius after Anders, Hawke, and the rest of their companions had defeated Corypheus. The investigations had served to separate them as their paths diverged. Loghain was to track the movements of Larius west, while Lhiannon remained in the Free Marches to further study Bartrand's Folly and the Warden's prison that had held Corypheus. Anders and Hawke had just… vanished.

It was the red lyrium and sudden appearance of the Calling that had eventually beckoned Lhiannon west, with Hawke's friend Isabela sailing her across the Waking Sea, through the Orlesian Heartlands and, finally, through Lake Celestine. She and Isabela had parted in Val Firmin, with Lhiannon headed farther west and Isabela to the nearest tavern. Lhiannon had never heard of red lyrium before investigating Bartrand's Folly and observing the petrified remains of Meredith Stennard, but she had quickly learned to be wary about it. When word came that it had been spreading in Orlais in the wake of something called The Elder One, she had followed, keeping a low profile both because of her status as the Hero of Ferelden and, more importantly, as a mage, since there remained a great deal of animosity toward them. Allies of the Inquisition they may be, but mistrust of mages ran deep after the Kirkwall Rebellion. The Calling that buzzed through her head had grown in intensity and urgency as she had headed west.

Through it all, she worried about Loghain. The last she had heard—through one of Isabela's conquests in Val Firmin—the Grey Wardens throughout the land were being summoned to the Western Approach, though no one knew precisely why. The conquest—a young tavern wench named Angelique with more tits than brains—had told Isabela that she had heard from a friend, who had heard from _another_ friend, who knew someone visiting from Kirkwall, that a man who looked like the Champion had passed through recently in the company of a dour companion with piercing blue eyes, a perpetual scowl, and who spoke little.

"Angelique described his ass in great detail," Isabela had said. "That is, after I _finally_ got her to stop talking about the Avvar tribe camped just outside town. She wants their chieftain in the worst way… and _every _way. She's such a slut." Isabela had quickly downed a shot of whiskey, then poured herself another one. A grin had crossed her face. "I like that."

Lhiannon had given Isabela a puzzled look "Wait. You knew it was Hawke by a…" She had ticked off the connections as she counted them on her fingers. "_Third_ hand account of the description of his ass?"

"Sweeting, have you _looked _at Hawke's ass? It's legendary. And positively yummy."

"You know that we're related, right? He's an Amell on his mother's side. I'm an Amell..." She had motioned to one of the serving girls, who brought Lhiannon a glass of Antivan brandy; she had paid the girl to leave the rest of the bottle behind. "Besides, he prefers the company of men."

"You can still look. And enjoy the scenery." Isabela had raised another glass of whiskey as a toast, then drained it in one gulp. "There's no law against that and, if there were, I'd break it every time."

The scuffling noise came again, causing Lhiannon to freeze and listen, holding her breath so as not to make a sound. This time, the noise was toward the entrance to the building, and she cursed herself a fool for not having cast the glyph as soon as she had crossed the doorway. The Calling must have had a greater effect on her than she'd thought. She slowly turned toward the sound, her eyes focused on the darkness beyond the lantern. Whatever it was, it was still outside.

The light scuffle came again, closer. Definitely larger than a snake or lizard. Quietly and carefully, she reached to the scabbard at her waist for her arcane sword, Spellweaver, and grasped the hilt. It made a small sound as it was withdrawn, barely discernible to her own ears. Grasping the hilt with both hands, she whispered the words to a spell, and the blade of the sword shimmered with writhing tendrils of red, yellow, and orange. Whoever or whatever was between her and the outside world would soon have a belly full of fire. She listened, closing her eyes for a moment to direct all of her senses toward the sound… then felt the taint in her blood stir.

The stirring was faint, a low whisper compared to the bombardment of the recent Calling. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her nose wrinkling as she forced her senses to focus even harder on listening and feeling. A few heartbeats later, her eyes flew open. Was it true, or simply her strained senses playing some sort of trick on her? After having lived so many years with tainted blood, to suddenly doubt it left her unsettled. Her sword pulsed with light and heat at her reaction, ready to confront whatever it was that was approaching.

A shadow appeared on the ground outside the doorway and the intensity of the taint grew. It moved slowly forward. A hurlock? It certainly looked large enough. However, darkspawn weren't normally known to be subtle or careful in their movements. Dread filled her stomach; what if it was a creature like The First? The last thing she needed was to confront a sentient darkspawn. She had had more than enough of that for one lifetime.

The shape entered the doorway and paused, backlit by the daylight behind it. Lhiannon gripped the hilt of Spellweaver tighter, the tendrils of fire writhing rapidly in response. She shifted her weight, ready to defend herself if the creature decided to rush her. It looked around the corner, then entered the room where the lantern and enchanted sword gave the figure more details; a shield held before it, a sword in hand, and a cloth covering its head and face against the sands outside. It paused and looked from Spellweaver to her.

The eyes. She knew those eyes.

Lhiannon felt her breath catch as the figure lowered its shield and replaced the sword in its scabbard. They stared at one another, not moving, barely believing what their own eyes told them. It gently set the shield on the floor, then rose to full height. It pulled the cloth covering its face down.

His name passed Lhiannon's lips as a whisper.

"Loghain."

The room grew darker as the fiery glow of Spellweaver dimmed. The sword slowly lowered to her side, then fell from her hand and landed next to her bedroll with a thud as she simply stared at him. Finally remembering how to move, her feet barely touched the floor as she bounded across the room, meeting him as he approached her from inside the doorway. She threw her arms around his neck, then gasped as he winced in pain and flinched while embracing her as well.

Lhiannon pulled back, looking over his face. Dark stubble crossed his jaw and neck; he hadn't had a chance to shave for a couple of days. A healing bruise was on his jawline and scratches were on the exposed skin of his neck. Despite the warmth of his embrace, he held himself stiffly, carefully, as if to avoid pain. "You're hurt."

A small smile crossed his face as his hand brushed a stray hair behind her ear. "I've had far worse," he said softly, "though these wounds will certainly take longer to heal."

The healing arts were never Lhiannon's strong suit while studying at the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. She had struggled with learning the most basic healing spells, while those in the primal class were the ones she had picked up quickly. Still, she could ease the pain of his superficial wounds and help the deeper wounds move a little closer to being completely healed. Reluctantly, she removed one of her hands from around his neck and placed it gently on his cheek, whispering the words of healing. She watched as his eyes closed and felt his body relax slightly as the healing power moved through him. Were those new wrinkles she saw around his eyes? A few more grey hairs along his temple and amongst the stubble on his face? It didn't matter. She held the spell as long as she dared, releasing it before her mana could drain fully.

"I wish I could do more."

"I know," he replied as he leaned closer to her.

His lips touched hers, gentle for a moment before pressing into her more deeply. She opened her mouth to him, her tongue brushing his lips, his teeth. Instinct made her press herself against him; she needed to touch as much of him as she could, to convince herself that he was real and that he was here. Without breaking contact, he maneuvered her toward the stone wall beside them, his body pinning her against it as they kissed with a hunger that only the distance of being parted could instill.

His fingers were in her hair while his thumbs rested on the skin between her ear and cheek as he held her face to his. The pressure of his touch made her heart race, her nerves dance, her body cry out for more. He broke contact with her as he pulled the fabric away from her neck, exposing the skin to his lips, tongue, and teeth. She shivered as his lips moved down her jaw line, and again when the tip of his tongue brushed the skin where her neck and collar bone joined. When she felt his arousal between them, she moved her body against it and was rewarded with a wanton groan on the skin of her neck. There was a slight pinching sensation as his teeth moved up her skin, lips once more finding hers. He was open to her, his tongue gently probing her, touching lightly before retreating so that she would chase it.

Something large skittered across the sands outside, hissing as it moved. The kiss broke as both Lhiannon and Loghain quickly turned toward the open door. The switching tail of a lizard was just outside, likely cornering a smaller creature to consume as its dinner.

Reluctantly, Loghain pulled away, leaving her body screaming with need. He reached up and caressed Lhiannon's face; she placed her hand on top of his and held it to her for a moment before allowing him to pull completely away.

"Have you explored this tower?" Loghain asked. "You didn't see any Venatori here, did you?"

Lhiannon's brow furrowed. "Venatori?"

"A Tevinter cult. They were the ones behind the false Calling… you did sense that, yes?"

She nodded. "How could I not? I was following it. Hawke's pirate friend, Isabela, brought me to Val Firmin by sea once I heard that the red lyrium was spreading in Orlais because of The Elder One."

Loghain nodded. "Can we get to the top of the tower? I need a vantage point."

"I don't believe so," Lhiannon said with a shake of her head. "The stairs looked questionable beyond the second floor."

Moving to the nearby window, Loghain peered outside for a moment before moving to the next one, then finally the door. "Come," he said, motioning toward the tower. "Let's get to the highest ground we can. There is much to discuss."

* * *

"I can't believe you were actually _inside_ the physical Fade," Lhiannon said. She and Loghain had carefully climbed the tower stairs to the third floor after she had cast a glyph at the entrance to the building. Beyond the third floor, the stairs had begun to crumble and would likely not withstand their passage more than once. Even still, the third floor did offer them a view of the lands outside, with Adamant Fortress in the distance, and the lip of the Abyssal Rift beyond that. If they needed to make a quick escape, they could climb out a window to land on the slate roof of the building below. It would be tricky and not without risk, but it was something they made note of in case it was needed.

"It was… disconcerting," Loghain said. "I still hear the taunts of the demon in my mind."

"Unfortunately, in my experience, it will be a long time before you stop hearing it." She reached toward the small fire they had built and withdrew a metal cup of steaming tea. She blew across the surface and took a small sip before handing it to Loghain.

"Alain Hawke is gone," Lhiannon said after a few moments of silence. "I wish I would have had more time to get to know him better. He was… family. And Anders, he's going to be devastated when he finds out."

Loghain handed the tea back to her. "I'm sorry about Alain as well. His actions in the Fade saved us." He paused for a moment with a far off look on his face before continuing. "Anders… do you know where he is?"

She shook her head slowly. "No, all I know is that he's still on the run. I'm not sure where he ran to. Maybe the Imperium."

"Perhaps," Loghain said in agreement. He grew quiet, his expression pensive, and she frowned at the look. He went to the window and used his hand to judge the time, then looked toward the fortress in the distance. "With the death of Warden Commander Clarel, I'm the senior Warden in Orlais. I need to travel to Weisshaupt to tell them what happened here. They need to know about our vulnerability to the Venatori."

There was a brief moment of silence before Loghain spoke again, his voice low and regretful. "I would not presume to give you orders, as you are the Commander, but you must return to Ferelden and warn the Grey Wardens there."

Lhiannon's stomach dropped. She gripped the cup of tea tightly despite its heat, fearing that her shaking hands would spill the drink onto the floor. They had just reunited after months apart, and now he was speaking of their paths diverging again. Fate seemed determined to keep them apart. She took a small sip of tea to drown the lump that had lodged itself in her throat.

"Weisshaupt?" she whispered.

"Yes," he said with a solemn voice as he turned to face her. "I trust no one else to tell the First Warden what has happened here. I _must_ go."

_I_ _trust no one else_. Her gaze dropped to the fire, where she stared into the flames for a few moments. It was always about duty with Loghain, first and foremost over all else, it seemed. She knew that he took duty seriously, but she also couldn't help the resentment that sometimes followed it. With all the time that had passed between the Blight and now, she thought it would be easier to bear. It could be, when the time they would spend apart was short. But, now? It would likely be months, _again,_ before she saw him. Months spent with sleepless nights and constant worry. Loghain could certainly handle himself, but that didn't stop the fear and anxiety from worming their way through her. Each day apart was one less day of their lives. One day, there would be no more days.

It just wasn't fair.

"I... understand." Loghain watched her, waiting for something more. She picked up a small rock from the rubble and rolled it between her fingers for a moment before throwing it against the far wall. "Dammit, Loghain! For once, just _once_, I'd like you to myself. With me. No duty, no battles, no _fucking _darkspawn or someone else's war to fight. _Especially_ after feeling the Calling and believing that we were all marching to our doom. Is that so wrong?"

"Lhiannon, don't be petulant."

"I'm angry, not petulant. There's a difference."

Loghain crossed his arms over his chest. "I would do anything for my country, my children… _you_. This is why we cannot simply put our duty to the side, no matter how difficult it may be."

"But when will it end, Loghain?" Lhiannon said, her empty hand held out in a plea. "When we're dead? When will we be able to _live_? Life can't be _all_ darkspawn and battle and death. Even as Grey Wardens, don't we deserve _something_ for ourselves?"

"We cannot ignore it," Loghain said bitterly. "We would never forgive ourselves… I would never forgive _myself_."

"Always duty before everything, even us, even for a moment," she said, her voice spiteful. What she said wasn't called for, and she knew it, but the words tumbled out before she had the chance to think about them. There were times when she was tired of it all, so tired, and it felt like there would never be an end.

When he spoke, his voice was low and sorrowful. "If you believe that I don't think the same way, _you're_ _wrong._ We need to cherish the time we _do_ have together, no matter how fleeting it seems. Those like us don't find much peace in our lives. Sometimes it's because we want the duties, other times, they are thrust upon us, and we have little say in the matter." He was silent for a moment, his gaze looking to the sands outside. "Harsh words are not the ones I wish to part on," he said softly.

She stared into the small fire, watching the flames as she tried to will herself into composure. He was right, of course. People looked for figures to lead them, to make _their_ lives better. Safer. Duty was part of their lives, as a former mage of the Circle, as a former teyrn, as Grey Wardens. She could drown in resentment and bitterness if she let them take her. It would be so easy to do.

Cherish the time together, he had said. These fleeting moments weren't enough. If that made her overly selfish, then that was what she would be, like it or not. In a world where they had both given much, wasn't it time for the world to give to _them_ for a change? Even as she thought it, it felt hollow to her. It would never be that way, and the thought was sobering. Duty was their lives; it always had been, and always would be.

A small noise escaped her, something between a sigh and a sob. At the sound, Loghain closed the distance between them in three long strides and, with a gentle hand, pulled her to her feet. "I know, this is not what either of us had planned when we found each other. I am loath to leave you, but I _do_ have a task to complete. As do you." He cradled her face in his hands, brushing a tear that had fallen from her eye with his thumb. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, first on her forehead, then above the eye that had produced the tear, then her lips. He didn't _want_ to leave her; what he wanted was her safely back at Vigil's Keep, doing her duty as Warden Commander there.

"I know; you're right, damn you." The sadness in her voice made him frown, his expression melancholy. She sighed, a deep and shaky breath that made her tremble slightly. "I do need to return to Ferelden… brief the other Grey Wardens and Alistair. Send word to Kirkwall. They may have felt the false Calling too."

Loghain leaned forward to embrace her, but she suddenly grasped the back of his head, pulling him to her as she began to kiss him deeply, desperately. If they were to cherish these brief moments, she would _take_ this one. With her lips still pressed to his, her hands went to the clasps of his leather armor, jerking at them in a desperate attempt to pull the pieces off him as her mouth began to move down his jaw and neck.

She needed him. Needed him _now,_ before duty tore them apart again and he was but a memory.

"I won't let you leave me yet," she said between kisses and nips to his skin. "You _won't._" There was a hiss as her teeth pinched his skin harder than a nip. "We have unfinished business."

Fingers fumbled at clasps and drawstrings while teeth and tongues explored each others' bodies anew. When free of the offending clothing, Loghain backed her against the wall once more, kissing, feeling, wanting. She knew that could always make him lose control. With her, he felt alive, young, and could push aside his gruff demeanor and allow his heart to take over, a side of him that he gave only to her. Duty was a distant memory as they kissed. His lips brushed along her collarbone as she moved her hips against him, the friction of skin on skin making her blood run hot. He grabbed at her leg, pulling it up so that she was open to him. As he entered her, she exhaled sharply, her breath ragged against his lips. Her other leg came up and wrapped around his waist, opening her more fully for him. She writhed against him and earned a low, guttural groan for her efforts. The aches and pains, worry and fear, faded into memory as desire took over. She wanted him and he wanted her, and all else became secondary.

_More, more, more. _Her ragged breathing, her fingers pressing into his back, the little movements she made with every thrust of his hips, all drove him harder. Her body grow tense, taut like a bowstring ready to launch an arrow; her legs squeezed him tightly, holding him close. She fought against her release, wanting to prolong it for as long as possible, to make love to him for as long as possible. The breathless noises he made as she approached her edge made it nearly impossible to defy her body. _Faster..._

She went over with a small cry as her body clenched around him, legs squeezing his bruised ribs and arms clutching his shoulders. It broke his control, and he followed with one last forceful thrust, holding her close as the waves crashed over them. Her mind began to clear as the surges of pleasure diminished, leaving her breathless yet contented.

She rested her head on his shoulder, her breath slowing yet still hot against his skin. He held her that way for a moment as they savored these all too brief moments of closeness. The feel of his heartbeat through her skin. The variations of color through his dark hair. Even the scars that had been inflicted on their bodies from battles with elves and men, the darkspawn, the Archdemon Urthemiel, the Architect… each other… they knew the stories behind each scar, the tears and triumph of them all. She was brought out of her reverie by the need to shift her weight. She groaned slightly as her legs loosened from around his waist and he helped set her on her feet.

"Mmmmm…" she sighed, a small and wistful smile on her face. A finger reached out a traced a delicate line on his ribs, tracing the border of the darkest bruise; she could see that he was fighting the urge to flinch from the ticklish sensation. "I hope we didn't undo what healing the spell gave you," she said.

It was his turn to smile wistfully. "A small price to pay."

Lhiannon reached up and placed a small kiss on the bridge of Loghain's nose before she moved toward the heap of tangled clothes and armor on the floor nearby. She handed him his small clothes before she started to pull on hers. They helped each other with the more difficult to reach bindings before moving onto the easier items.

Loghain walked to the nearby window as he fastened his scabbard in place. "It will be dark in a couple of hours. The other Wardens and the Inquisition think I am investigating a possible darkspawn presence. I sent my Inquisition companion back to Adamant when I had sensed darkspawn—you, it turns out. They will likely send a search party for me soon, especially as we get closer to sunset."

She nodded. "That seems likely."

"There is more," Loghain said, turning from the window to meet her gaze. "The Inquisition is looking for you."

"Me?" she asked incredulously. "Why would they be looking for me?"

Loghain shrugged slightly, giving her a small grin. "Apparently, they want you by their side to save the world... again. The Seeker is especially adamant about this."

Lhiannon scoffed, shaking her head slightly. "I'm getting too old for that shit."

"As am I," he agreed with a wry grin.

Her expression turned serious as she thought about his words regarding duty. "If these Venatori are as dangerous as you say, you're right; I need to get back to Ferelden and warn the Wardens there while you go to Weisshaupt. I won't rule out assisting the Inquisition, but I need to ensure the safety of Ferelden and its Grey Wardens first. I'm their Commander; they are my responsibility."

Loghain gave her a small smile. "There is nothing _we_ would not do for Ferelden. Its people are resilient, yet they still suffer from the effects of the Blight even now. The lands still suffer, so Ferelden is vulnerable. It, and the Grey Wardens, must be kept safe."

"Do you think the Inquisition can stop Corypheus?"

Loghain retrieved the cup from the edge of the fire and took a sip of tea as he gathered his thoughts. "The Inquisition is growing, gathering the strength to face him and his armies. Inquisitor Trevelyan has more than one reason to defeat him." He paused, his fingers moving across the stubble along his chin. "I believe the Inquisitor _can_ defeat him; however, if Corypheus succeeds in spreading chaos, all of Thedas will fall to his Imperium reborn."

"That can't happen," Lhiannon said. "We need to do what we can to prepare our people. We have to be ready for Corypheus and his Venatori if, and when, they make their move."

Loghain gave her a curt nod. "Agreed. You need to return to Ferelden as soon as possible. As well meaning as the Inquisitor and the Inquisition are, they would delay you." He was silent for a moment as he thought. His brows then furrowed. "Which way did you come to get this far in the Western Approach?"

She shrugged. "For the most part, I let the false Calling guide me. It was hard to ignore."

"I cannot argue that."

"Hawke's friend Isabela sailed me as far as Lake Celestine. We then went to Val Firmin. From there, I followed these towers."

He beckoned Lhiannon toward the window. "Come."

She moved to stand next to him, and followed his finger as it pointed to a feature in the distance.

"The Inquisition has an outpost nearby: Griffon Wing Keep," Loghain began. "They are using it as their base of operations in the Western Approach and have a garrison there to defend it. Merchants have started setting up there…"

"So the Inquisition must feel that the supply lines are secure," Lhiannon said as she studied the object. There was no telling how far away it was; she had learned over time that distances could be deceptive.

Loghain nodded. "I will withdraw the surviving Wardens to Griffon Wing Keep to resupply before they return to Montsimmard. You can accompany us rather than cross the desert alone again. As I go north to Weisshaupt, you can travel with one of the merchant caravans east. You still have a Grey Warden surcoat with you, yes?"

"Yes, one that we acquired in Kirkwall. I hope a traveling merchant won't object to having a Grey Warden travel with them."

"There's a problem, though."

"Just _a_ problem?"

Loghain scoffed. "Figure of speech."

"Sorry," she said with a small grin. "And the problem is?"

"Cullen. He's no longer a templar and is with the Inquisition at Adamant. He's the commander of their army."

"I see," Lhiannon said. The thought of facing Cullen again wasn't a pleasant one; he hadn't been supportive of the decision to grant the Arling of Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens. With her as the Warden Commander, it effectively made her the Arlessa, which vexed those associated with the Chantry, including Cullen. He had _hated_ mages after the torture he had endured at the hands of Uldred and his blood mages at Kinloch Hold during the Blight. Did time help those scars heal? What would he do if he discovered her? She pushed her apprehension aside, for the moment. "If he discovers me, he'll likely run right to the Inquisitor or the Seeker, which will certainly delay my return to Ferelden." She paused to take a sip of tea—much cooler now—and passed the last of it to Loghain. He nodded his thanks and drank it.

"Did you know," Lhiannon said as Loghain finished the tea, "that he was the templar that was supposed to execute me if I had failed my Harrowing?"

"Well, hopefully time has dissuaded him from carrying out that notion."

She scoffed lightly; she didn't want to find out. "The question remains though: how am I going to go with you to the Warden camp at Adamant and not be discovered?"

Loghain thought for a moment. They both wanted her back in Ferelden to complete her mission, quickly, and in the most inconspicuous way possible. It was likely good fortune that she had made it this far into the Wastes alone; the thought of her crossing it again, _alone_, to head for Griffon Wing Keep wasn't an option he wanted to consider if at all possible. She could certainly handle herself against a wild animal, a raider, or perhaps an inexperienced Venatori; more than perhaps one or two would be a challenge. Furthermore, the thought of her falling under the influence of the Venatori was unacceptable. "You have a scarf," he said, "we can use it to cover your hair."

"That won't be enough; the templars knew the mages in their charge well," she said, running through what items she had with her in her mind. Her eyes dropped to the edges of their fire. She crouched down and ran her fingers through the dark soot at the edge. The rough particles coated her skin with a dark smudge. She crushed the pieces between her fingers, working it into a rough powder. "He won't tell the Inquisitor or the Seeker about me if he doesn't know I'm there."

* * *

_**Thank you to my awesomesauce beta, Suilven, her Big Beta Stick of Doom, and her spot on advice! Also, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this little tale. It's very much appreciated.**_


	3. Anashe

**CHAPTER 3: ANASHE**

Cenric Salter looked at the ancient sundial in the courtyard of Adamant Fortress, then raised his hand to the sky to measure the sun's position. He moved toward the entrance along the outer walls and looked out over the sands, listening to the camp as he did so. A low murmur went through the encampment, occasionally broken by laughter, the sounds of weapons being sharpened or the hammering of armor being repaired; more normal, in his experience. He frowned as he scanned the landscape beyond. Warden Loghain hadn't returned to camp yet and he was unsure of who among the Wardens he could report that to. Perhaps it was time to find the Inquisitor or Captain Cullen. What if the Warden had truly found something and needed help? Or worse? Loghain Mac Tir had been a renowned warrior in his time, but he wasn't a young man anymore. If there was something out there, something that kept the Warden from returning, the Inquisition and the Grey Wardens needed to know. Nothing had happened thus far and the other scouts hadn't seen anything suspicious, but more time had passed than what Cenric had anticipated; the sun was nearly one hand width above the horizon. _I'll find Inquisitor Trevelyan…_

Movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention. He started slightly, silently admonishing himself for not watching the shadows along the walls more carefully.

"Teyrn… I mean, Warden Loghain! Sorry about that."

Cenric watched as the Warden waved his apology off. Loghain didn't look the worse for wear, which assuaged Cenric's concerns. He looked a little tired, if anything; perhaps, it was the blowing sand irritating his eyes.

Another shadow appeared from the walls behind Loghain, causing Cenric to place his hand on the hilt of his sword as he prepared to draw it.

Warden Loghain saw the motion and held out his arm, keeping the shadow behind him. "Stay your weapon, Salter. There is no need for it," Loghain said, pointedly looking at Cenric's hand.

"Who's with you?" Cantic said, moving to peer around the Warden.

Behind Loghain was another person, smaller than him and wearing a surcoat with the insignia of the Grey Wardens on it. A woman, judging by the shape. A sword rested on her hip, the blade long and smooth, the grip covered in dark leather. Her hair was wrapped in a light cloth to protect it from the sands, with the excess pulled down around her neck. A large black stripe ran across her face, from above her brows to below her eyes, across the bridge of her nose and the top of her cheekbones. Black lines were drawn on her cheeks, jaw, and onto her neck, where they disappeared beneath the cloth. What wasn't covered in black was an ashen color. Cenric frowned.

The woman stepped forward. "I am called Anashe an Wyrmwood."

"An... Avvar?" Cenric asked.

The woman glared at him. "My tribe is from the Frostback Mountains." _Keep the conversation short._

"She joined the Grey Wardens in Ferelden after the Blight," Loghain explained. "She has been in Orlais escorting an Avvar clan toward the Imperium. She then followed the other Wardens here when the need arose."

Cenric looked at the woman for another moment, then back at Loghain. "Come on," he said as he motioned toward the camp, "I was just getting ready to talk to the Inquisitor about sending a search party out for you. Glad you're back in once piece."

"As am I," Loghain said. "Cenric, before you leave…"

"Yes?"

Loghain reached into the scabbard on his belt and removed the dagger Cenric had given him earlier. "I believe this is yours."

With a smile, Cenric reached out and grasped the handle of the blade. "Knew you'd be back." He turned and walked toward a nearby cooking fire as Loghain led Anashe toward a group of tents set up by the Grey Wardens.

The uncomfortable feeling of butterflies in her stomach, not to mention the looks from the others in the camp, made Lhiannon a bit nauseous as Loghain led her through the courtyard. Her eyes moved over the other tents and soldiers milling about, wanting to make sure there was no one that she recognized, save Cullen. She and Cullen were not on the best of terms, at least, not the last time she had seen him. He had still been a templar at that time and his distrust of mages—and what she represented as a mage, Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey Wardens, and de facto ruler of the Arling of Amaranthine—had run strong. The influence of the Chantry defined him; she had feared him then, and feared him still.

You could take the man out of the Chantry and the Templar Order, but could you take the Chantry and templar from the man? She didn't want to find out.

There were a number of tents with the Grey Warden sigil on them scattered about others that had to be for the Inquisition. There seemed to be more tents than Wardens, a reminder of what had happened here. She followed Loghain to a small group of tents on the outside of encampment. Several of them had open flaps and were empty.

"These are unclaimed," he told Lhiannon.

She nodded. "Good as any."

"Warden Loghain!"

Lhiannon's stomach dropped as she turned and saw a fellow Grey Warden approach. Orlesian, by the accent. Loghain shot her a look, then took a step toward the man who had called him, putting himself between her and the man that approached them.

"Lance," Loghain said by way of greeting. She watched as the young Warden abruptly stopped before Loghain and stared around him at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Loghain stood still and, even though Lhiannon was staring at his back, she could tell by the way he held his body that he was daring the younger man to say something. Then, possibly remembering some degree of manners, Lance composed himself and returned his attention to the older Warden.

Loghain turned and motioned to her with an outstretched hand. "This is Anashe an Wyrmwood from the Fereldan Grey Wardens."

Lance looked at her skeptically, his eyes moving over the black marks on her face. "What is a… ah… Warden... doing in Orlais?" He spoke Fereldan well enough.

_Well, here we go again. _"I am Avvar. I was escorting my tribe along the Imperial Highway when I heard the Calling and followed it. I saw the great dragon in the sky, heard the sounds of battle, and tried to make it here." She looked about again, not having to feign disbelief at what had happened. "I was not successful. I did find my associate as I continued this way."

The Orlesian studied her for a moment, and she couldn't tell if it was with curiosity or contempt. She likewise studied him; though he bore the signs of battle, there were little things she noticed that made her think that his scrutiny was more likely contemptuous: his narrowed eyes, studying the markings on her face. The neatly trimmed beard, mussed a bit due to the battle, but still oiled and cared for; the sculpted mustache, curled up at the ends and held in place with some type of wax. They spoke of a fastidiousness common among the Orlesian nobility and their near obsession with appearance, which was the exact opposite of the markings on her face. The elaborate stitching on the leather armor he wore with the griffon sewn on the chest. A sword with a pommel containing a precious jewel. Fine Orlesian fashion, to be sure; she thought it likely that Lance was one of higher birth who had family sending him a stipend or other little luxuries. One who often looked at outsiders as beneath them, especially those who resembled the barbarians of old.

He scoffed slightly when finished with his scrutiny. "I do not know that you would have helped against the demon or dragon." As quickly as he had stopped to gape at her, he slid his attention away and back to Loghain.

"Warden," Lance said, "we have begun patrols with the Inquisition. The mages have identified several areas nearby where the Veil is distressingly thin. We have taken steps to either block off or move people from those areas. The Inquisitor is working to close the most dangerous ones."

"Good," Loghain said. "And how has the Inquisition treated us?"

Lance shrugged. "Fair enough, all things considered. They've shown caution toward our surviving mages, to all of us, really, but they've done their part here." He returned his attention to Lhiannon. "Anashe, is that right?"

"Yes."

"How does an Avvar become a Grey Warden?"

"Very carefully," Lhiannon said through gritted teeth. If she was to play the part, she would act like the prickly outsider who had endured such scrutiny throughout her life; it wasn't too far removed from her experiences as a mage. She turned toward Loghain and gave him a pointed look, ignoring the other man. "I need solitude to commune with Korth the Mountain-Father and the Lady of the Skies." She hoped that he had picked up on her look; the sooner she could conceal herself in a tent, the better.

There was a barely perceptible nod. "A moment," Loghain said. "Lance, Anashe and I will camp here. Tomorrow, we will travel to Griffon Wing Keep to resupply before you and the other Wardens return to Montsimmard. When we arrive at the Keep, we shall appoint someone to take permanent charge of the Wardens in Orlais."

"You will not return to us after speaking to the First Warden?"

"I will not," Loghain said. "It is my intention to report to the Warden Commander in Ferelden."

Lance raised a brow. "Yes, I imagine spending any more time than necessary in Orlais is intolerable to you."

"You have no idea."

Lance motioned toward Lhiannon. "And… her?"

"Anashe will return to Ferelden and give a report of what happened here to the Warden Commander. The Grey Wardens in Ferelden need to be on their guard in case the Venatori turn their sights there." Loghain crossed his arms over his chest, his gesture effectively ending the conversation. "Is there anything else?"

"No, I believe that is all."

"Very well. I will address the remainder of the Wardens shortly." Loghain turned away from Lance to speak to Lhiannon. She watched as Lance turned and moved off toward the main encampment of Grey Wardens.

"No doubt Lance is off to tell the Orlesians his interpretation of my plans," he said, once the other man was out of earshot. "I will go and deliver them myself so that there is no question among them. I will let Inquisitor Trevelyan know of them as well. Stay here."

"I have nowhere else I need to be."

Loghain cast another glance about before speaking again, his voice low. "It is common knowledge that I am wed to the Hero of Ferelden. I will not let them think I am dishonoring you by openly spending the night with Anashe."

"You wouldn't be dishonoring me, because it _is_ me," she said before sighing heavily. "I do know that rumors travel faster than the truth, especially salacious ones. _Especially_ in Orlais. It is what we must do to keep my identity anonymous."

Loghain's brow rose and, when his spoke, his voice was deep and resonated of _want;_ a fluttering sensation rippled through her. "Anything is possible." He stepped back and gave her a nod before following Lance into the heart of the Grey Warden camp.

* * *

A small triangle of light entered the tent, the flaps open at the bottom so that the only thing that could be seen outside were lower legs and feet passing by. With her bedroll set up and an inventory of items in her pack completed, Lhiannon sat cross legged in her tent and watched those legs and feet pass by. Only one person had bent down to peer inside, and quickly left when confronted by a face covered in grey and black war paint. She heard what she thought was an Orlesian curse before the feet moved away.

She turned to her pack again, recounting her meager supplies: some dried deer meat, a bit of oil, two tiny flasks of lyrium, a whetstone for Spellweaver, a brush and mirror for her hair, and various herbs, poultices, and injury kits. A small satchel containing maps of Ferelden, Orlais, and Kirkwall sat in her lap; she opened it and pulled out the map of Orlais, comparing the landmarks between Adamant Fortress, Griffon Wing Keep, and any major towns that could be part of the Inquisition's supply lines. Val Firmin looked to be the closest. Perhaps she could find passage on a ship from Lake Celestine, or with other merchants heading to Montsimmard, Halamshiral, or, if she was lucky, Orzammar. Going over land would be much longer than travel by sea; maybe Isabela was still playing with Angelique in Val Firmin.

She folded the map and tucked it back into its satchel. The mixture of dried ash, oil, and charcoal that covered her face were making her skin itch and feel overly tight, but she didn't dare remove it until she was well away from here. She picked up the mirror and studied her face. The charcoal and ash mixtures had cracked on her face as they dried, adding even more camouflage to her features. Despite the cracking, it seemed to hold on to her skin fairly well; with luck, she wouldn't have to replace all of it at once, but just touch it up. It was a good thing she had learned about the Avvars and Alamarri while at Kinloch Hold; the senior mages taught the apprentices the history of the tower, since they were the ones who had built it when their territory had occupied much of Ferelden.

A pair of feet came to the front of the tent and stopped, the toes pointing toward the opening. Lhiannon heard the sound of a voice being cleared and couldn't help but grin to herself. She slipped the mirror back into her pack before getting up on her knees and moving toward the flaps. She untied the knots holding them shut and pulled the flaps inward, squinting as she looked up at the shape before her.

"Would you like something to eat?" Loghain asked. He held a bowl in each hand, and a small bag dangled from a string that looped over the palm of his left hand.

"Very much," Lhiannon said as she tied the flaps up and away to leave the tent open. She then reached out to take the bowls so Loghain could crawl inside. He flipped the small bag into the tent ahead of him, then bent down. His knees popped and he groaned as he made his way in.

"Bloody small tents," he cursed as he settled himself into a seated position; his head nearly touched the roof, and he scooted over a bit so that his head was aligned with the peak. "Perhaps I can find a taller one once we arrive at Griffon Wing Keep."

"For your sake, I hope so," she said as he opened the bag and withdrew two wooden spoons, a small hunk of cheese, a few pieces of hard bread, and a small skin of water. Once he had set them out, she handed him a bowl. It was a porridge of some sort, oat based with onions, carrots, and a few scant pieces of meat within it. It was plain, but better than the dried jerky she had eaten of late.

They sat together as they ate, sharing the cheese, bread, and water once the porridge was done in relative silence. There were so many things she wanted to say, anything to hear his voice, to hear him say her name, but knew it was best to remain quiet and not draw any more attention than necessary. Anyone who walked by simply saw two Fereldan Wardens, in a country not their own, sharing a companionable meal.

Daylight dimmed as they ate, with the fires of the camp casting long shadows on the fortress walls, and the torches of the sentries moving about like summer fireflies. She was thankful be with Loghain after their time apart, despite the silence. It was bittersweet, however, and she grew melancholy, knowing that they would be parted again on the morrow, for Maker knew how long. She looked at him, wanted to commit his features to memory. The way the firelight shone on his skin, giving a rich color. The small strands of gray hair in a sea of black that fluttered in the breeze. The slightly aquiline nose, eyes the blue of winter ice. It was too much, and she reluctantly tore her eyes away before she could completely lose her composure. Loghain seemed to sense her sadness; his hand slid over to her and gripped hers, his thumb stroking her skin. She squeezed it tightly, not wanting to let it go… to let _him_ go. He turned his head toward her and spoke softly, tenderly.

"Distance may part us, but my love shall never leave you."

How long would it be before she heard that voice again? The thought made her heart ache, a pain beyond physical, one that had reached into the very fiber of her being.

"Nor mine for you," she said, her voice husky as she held back her tears. "Hurry back to me."

"Always."

* * *

_**A/N: Thank you to the super speedy, crazy awesome beta skills of the amazing Suilven! Thank you all so much for reading!**_


	4. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

Companionable laughter filled the main hall of Vigil's Keep as the outer doors opened, blown in by the icy winds of late fall. Snow had not yet made an appearance, but it was only a matter of time before winter's white blanket covered the Arling of Amaranthine and the Grey Warden fortress. The flames within the sconces nearby danced wildly as the cold wind rushed over them.

"It's going to take about three baths to get all this… darkspawn… out of my hair," Lhiannon said, motioning toward the long braid that fell across the breastplate of her armor. Darkspawn blood had smeared across the metal under it, swept from side to side as the braid had moved. Dark coagulated bits were splattered across the rest of her armor, dried by the winds outside.

"Well, it's your own sodding fault," Sigrun said as she pulled off her gauntlets to warm her hands by a nearby fire. "You really didn't have to cast that walking bomb… thing on that genlock. And you could try wearing a full helmet rather than whatever that leathery thing is on your head. I don't have darkspawn shit in _my_ hair."

Lhiannon shrugged as she pulled her own gauntlets off and placed them on a bench nearby. "Ugh, I hate how… closed in… full helmets make me feel. Besides, did you want to be down in the Deep Roads all night, or did you want that band of darkspawn out of our hair in a hurry?"

Sigrun snorted. "Was that literally or figuratively?"

"Piss off," Lhiannon said as she and Sigrun laughed. The sound of footfalls across the hall drew their attention and ended the laughter. The two Wardens looked at each other and shared an apprehensive look. Varel, her beloved seneschal, approached them, his gait urgent. Judging by the look on his face, he had news, and it wasn't good.

"Warden Commander, your presence is needed in the war room right away."

Lhiannon sighed, looking at Varel but motioning to her armor. "Can I clean up first? As you can see, I'm covered in darkspawn."

"Doesn't smell so good either," Sigrun added.

Varel's expression remained stoic. "This cannot wait, I'm afraid."

Lhiannon felt her brows furrow. She had learned to read Varel's expressions over the years, and this one told her that whatever was vexing him was something serious. While there were always matters requiring prompt attention, few meant that they had to drop everything and act right away.

"Is it an emissary from the Inquisition? Ambassador Montilyet had sent word that our assistance would be invaluable to the Inquisitor's cause in Ferelden and that she would send one of her people to discuss our future alliance."

Varic shook his head. "No, Commander. Ambassador Montilyet's emissary should be here in another two days, provided the weather remains fair."

Lhiannon shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I hope a little darkspawn blood doesn't frighten them."

"A _little_ blood?" Sigrun said with a snort. "That's like saying a golem is a _little_ pile of rocks."

Varel stood there, patiently waiting for Lhiannon and Sigrun to finish their banter. He wasn't going to leave. Lhiannon shrugged and sighed again, resigned. "All right, Varel. Lead the way."

"Sounds like work," Sigrun said, winking at Lhiannon. "Gotta go."

Varel moved swiftly through the halls of the Vigil toward the war room. The rooms they passed were quiet, with the other Wardens out in the training yard, hunting darkspawn, or patrolling the roads between the Vigil, Amaranthine, and Denerim. Lhiannon felt her stomach flutter uncomfortably as anxiety settled there like a bad meal. What was it that had Varel so concerned? Was that why the other Wardens were mostly absent? Were the darkspawn that she and Sigrun defeated the harbinger of another invasion? Had something happened to Amaranthine, or Denerim? Her thoughts raced as she followed Varel.

The double doors to the war room were closed. Varel stopped before them and turned to face Lhiannon. He nodded as he reached for the handle and turned it.

"I will take my leave," he said as he pushed the door open. The light from the wall sconces entered the darker hallway, casting a warm glow on the seneschal's face. She looked at him, puzzled. He only motioned toward the open door with a nod of his head. She took a deep breath and passed through the door.

At the far side of the room, a figure stood with hands clasped behind their back, admiring a large map of Ferelden that hung on the wall. A sword, bow, and a quiver of arrows rested on the top of the war room table, while a fur lined leather cloak draped across a chair. Lhiannon gasped audibly as the figure turned to look at her, dressed in studded leather armor. A small braid hung down along the left side of his face, ending between his ear and eye.

"Loghain?" she whispered. It felt as though the air had been sucked from her lungs, leaving her only a tiny amount she could speak with.

From behind her, she barely heard Varel's voice above the hammering of her heartbeat in her ears. "I have addressed your duties for the remainder of the day. I've also taken the liberty of having your chambermaid ready a bath and have your meals sent to your room."

"Thank you, Varel," she said, her voice still barely above a whisper. She wasn't sure if she should be vexed at Varel for keeping this secret—with a straight face, no less—or if she should throw her arms around him and give him a giant bear hug.

That decision would have to wait.

"Commander. Warden," Varel said as he closed the door behind her.

Lhiannon took Loghain in as she stood before him, armored and covered in darkspawn blood. She must have looked… absolutely terrible. He, on the other hand, looked no worse for wear, considering the fact that he had likely spent the better part of the last few months on horseback. A little windburn on the face, perhaps, but that was to be expected in Ferelden.

A wry grin pulled on the corner of his lips. "I see you've been busy, Lhiannon."

The sound of his voice saying her name made her nerves thrum. "Yeah, a little," she said as her voice finally found itself. "How… how long have you been here?"

"Long enough for Varel to tell me about the goings on in the arling."

She lifted a hand and gestured to her hair while looking at his. "You're growing a braid again."

A small smile crossed his face as he reached up to touch the woven strand of hair. "I was feeling nostalgic."

"It looks good. _You_ look good." She looked down at her armor, the opposite of good at the moment. "I… uh… could use a bath."

This time, when Loghain smiled, it sent sparks through Lhiannon. "Allow me," he said, his voice a husky drawl.

* * *

It had been two baths.

The first was to remove the darkspawn detritus from Lhiannon. Not only was it in the parts of her hair not covered by her leather helmet, but small bits had found their way between her armor and skin, painting dark red stains on her body where the joints of her armor had rested. Loghain had slowly, painstakingly, removed her armor and underclothes piece by piece, languidly trailing his fingers across the parts of her skin not dotted by darkspawn. She had protested at first, somewhat halfheartedly, saying that she didn't want him to get dirty; the truth was that she wanted his hands all over her, darkspawn remnants be damned. They had both been and seen worse, he had said. They compromised, with him using a damp cloth to wipe away the worst of the mess.

She had shivered with each touch, longing to touch him in return but not wanting to ruin his clothes with the darkspawn blood that still dotted her hands. She could do that much, at least, though she had found it almost unbearable. When he had finally turned his attention to her hands, he held one at a time, gently cleaning each finger with the same painstakingly slow process that he had used to clean the other parts of her body. Every tremble had brought a grin to his face. Once she was unclothed, he had helped settle her into the tub and, while she lathered up her hair and skin, had called for the servants to begin preparing hot water for a second bath.

As she rinsed the soap from her hair, it turned the water a curious shade of light pink; having Loghain remove the worst of the stains beforehand had been an excellent idea, or the water would have been much darker. Despite that, she closed her eyes and settled deeper into the tub, letting the warmth envelop her for a few moments. A small noise drew her attention from the water, where she watched Loghain as he placed his studded leather armor on its stand. He came to the side of the tub and knelt down, leaning forward to place a slow and languid kiss on her lips while his fingers traced a gentle track along the skin of her shoulders. Reluctantly, she pulled back slightly and met his eyes.

"The water… it's… nasty."

"Why do you think I called for a second bath? I could use one myself." Another soft and languid kiss pressed against her lips. She wanted more, but he kept his kiss excruciatingly slow, teasing her with the tip of his tongue as his finger traced along the skin of her jaw.

A knock on the door interrupted them; Lhiannon uttered a sound somewhere between a groan and whimper as Loghain pulled away. She hurried out of the tub and wrapped a robe around herself as the servants came in and changed the water. She smiled and chatted with each one as they worked, hauling away the dirty water while others brought in fresh, hot water. Loghain tended to the fire in the fireplace as they worked, setting the covered dishes of their meal on the hearth to keep them warm. After what seemed like an eternity, the servants were done, leaving Lhiannon and Loghain alone again. She bolted the door behind them. No interruptions.

This time, she helped him remove the remainder of his clothing, as he had helped her. She left small kisses along his body, pressing herself against him as her lips moved against his. He groaned softly, his arousal obvious. After a moment, he pulled away and cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we should take advantage of this bath while it is still warm."

"Yes, I suppose we should," she said as she dropped her robe to the floor. Loghain stepped into the tub first, settling himself against the wall before guiding her into the water. She rested her back against him, where she could feel the beating of his heart and the slow rise and fall of his chest. His arms came around her and she let her head fall back to rest on his shoulder. She began to feel drowsy as his finger trailed along her skin and the sound of his breath nearly lulled her to sleep.

"I'm glad you're home," she said, sighing in contentment several minutes later. "You _are_ home, yes?"

"Yes."

She smiled, then turned in the bath to face him. He moved closer to her, their legs off to the sides to that they were nearly chest to chest. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer, while hers rested on his shoulders. Her fingers found their way into his hair, sliding through the dark strands.

"How did you convince the First Warden?"

"Practicality," Loghain said. "I told him that the darkspawn still roam parts of Ferelden impacted by the Blight and the rise of Corypheus. I know those parts of Ferelden well. That is where I will go." He shrugged slightly and raised his brows playfully. "If he didn't agree, I was going to do it anyway. He's far more concerned with his standing in the Anderfels than with other Wardens in far flung countries."

Lhiannon chuckled. "You are a stubborn man."

"Indeed," Loghain agreed. Loghain brought his arms from around her, grasping her hands in his. "Years ago, I swore to you that I would follow you until the end. Do you remember?"

She smiled. "That was when we threw in our lot together as Grey Wardens to end the Blight."

Loghain nodded. "It is just as true now as it was then." He leaned in and kissed her. "I shall be yours, always," he said, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

"I am yours, always," Lhiannon agreed, and she kissed him back.

* * *

_**Thank you so much to the always awesome Suilven for her extraordinary beta skills! You rock, sister! :)**_

_**I appreciate you all for taking the time to read this little tale!**_


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